Olympic Moments
by Swellison
Summary: Even Sam and Dean watch the Olympics. Story set in season 1.


Olympic Moments

By Swellison

Dean Winchester followed his younger but taller brother through the doorway, closing their motel room door behind him.

Supper in the motel's diner had been less-than-stellar; Dean opting for a hard-to-screw-up cheeseburger and fries, Sam ordering the pot roast. ("We're in eastern Pennsylvania, they ought to be able to make a decent Yankee pot roast," Sam had commented. Apparently not, he soon discovered. )

Conversation had been sporadic, too, especially after Sam had overheard the three co-eds in the next booth talking about Professor So-and-so's class. Sam had a funny, wistful look on his face as he eavesdropped, drinking in the conversation about slogging through term papers and Sorenson's nasty habit of starting out the week with a pop quiz.

"Hey," Dean said suddenly as Sam settled down on the left bed, further from the door. "We could go back to the diner, see if those girls are still there, and introduce ourselves. It's barely past seven, the night is still young."

"There are three of them."

"So? You saying I can't handle two girls at one time?"

"No, I'm saying I don't think you can handle three girls at the same time."

Ouch. Putdown and a reminder that Sam's loss of Jess was way too recent for him to be thinking along those lines with any girl. It wasn't the girls that had put that longing look in Sam's eyes; it was the topic of their conversation: college. Dean knew that Sam missed Stanford and the four most normal years of his young life.

Dean watched from his own bed, defensively positioned closer to the door, as Sam clicked the remote and the television, that bastion of normalcy, came to life.

Dean recognized the theme music from several previous nights. "The Olympics again? Can't we watch Desperate Housewives or those hot doctor chicks instead?"

"No."

"Why not? Since when have you been so into the Olympics, anyway?"

"Since the last Winter Games, in 2002." Sam half-smiled. "Angie got me hooked on them: we spent over two weeks studying while watching the Games in our dorm rooms."

Dean moved into a sitting position on his bed. "Angie, huh? Don't think I've ever heard you mention her before."

"She was my first girlfriend at college. We broke up towards the end of sophomore year."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If I hadn't broken up with Angie, I never would've met--" Sam cut himself off abruptly. After a deep breath, he continued. "Angela Cardini - at fifteen, she was one of the top five junior skaters in the U.S. She told me she quit because she didn't have enough of the three D's to get to the next skating level."

"The three D's?"

"Drive, determination and dedication. Plus she discovered boys about that time - she admitted that probably had something to do with her decision to quit. But she still loved the Olympics, especially the figure skating. She managed to get some last-minute tickets to the skating gala, and we watched it in person, in Salt Lake City.

"Angie knew practically the entire American skating team, and we got invited to a couple of after-the-ice parties, it was an awesome weekend." Sam's eyes, no, his whole face, lit up with the memories. He returned to the present. "That's why I'm doing what millions of Americans and countless millions more around the world are doing: watching the Games, rooting for the home team, and honoring the best, no matter what country they're from."

"Okay, I get it. Watching the Olympics is normal, and I know how much you crave normal. But remember the key word, watching. Watching is for bystanders, Sammy - and we ain't bystanders. Never have been, never will be."

"Don't I know it," Sam mumbled under his breath. "We're not bystanders, we're doers. So, what Game d'you think hunting most closely resembles?"

"Hunting isn't a GAME!" Dean protested, affronted.

"Those athletes spend endless hours practicing and honing their skills. They - and their entire families - have sacrificed huge chunks of their lives for the chance to compete, and maybe be acknowledged as one of the world's best. You think, if you tell any athlete in Torino that what he does is just a game, a sport, he's gonna agree with you? It's a life's choice."

Dean heard the slight emphasis on the last word, choice. "What game is hunting most like, huh?" He gestured sweepingly around the motel room. "Cross-country skiing? Got the adjective right."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, and Dean tried harder to get into the spirit of the thing. "Hey, what about the giant slalom?

A huge obstacle course, and downhill all the way. Although you and I haven't faced any giants, yet…. Well, what event do you think hunting's most like, then?"

Sam pointed to the television and Dean realized that he'd been watching all along. His younger brother excelled at multi-tasking, a skill doubtless improved by his college years. "Ice dancing?" Dean asked in disbelief. He was silent for several seconds, absorbing the couple's performance. "Okay, I'll give you the fancy footwork."

"It's called twizzle steps," Sam corrected. "Each movement precisely planned and executed in unison. Drive, determination and dedication - ring any bells?" He grinned. "Besides, THE MAN is always the taller one in the partnership."

WHAP! A precisely tossed pillow landed on Sam's head. "Hey!"

"Shut up and watch TV, Sam."

The end

A/N: I forgot about this until I read authoressnebula's Olympic tribute, To Bear and Keep the Light Alive. This little vignette is actually my first Supernatural story, my way of testing the waters, seeing if I could write Sam and Dean, written when the first season was the only Supernatural season.


End file.
